


g r a p e f r u i t

by pinkgrapefruit



Category: Poetry - Fandom, poems - Fandom
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Other, Poetry, grapefruits shitty poetry hour, oh she can write fanfic and poetry?, that's new, this is literally so i dont lose them in the abyss of my phone notes, you haven't seen that hellhole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:49:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/pseuds/pinkgrapefruit
Summary: a poetry collection by a non-poetnone of this will rhymethat is not my problem





	1. a knife to a poetry slam

do not apologise

for the words you have spoken

as if you would not repeat them again

syllables tumbling off your tongue

like daggers but more disarming

words may not be concrete

but when thrown around

they leave bruises

ones that bloom purple and blue

on the peach of your flesh

fuzzy and soft

and ruined

 

do not pretend

that you would not prefer a knife

to a poetry slam

a grenade

to an essay

that your hands would not work faster

more efficiently

with a weapon of solidity

rather than a weapon of purpose

that you would not rather sharpen your knife

than your tongue

 

do not act

like words mean nothing

like they cannot build fortresses

and palaces

and a kingdom

that would have you kneel at my feet

 

and do not think

that I would not enjoy

every fucking second

 

_[fin]_


	2. paper kites

my back hurts  
except it’s not my back  
it’s a thousand tiny cogs and springs that all appear to have rusted   
even though my frame is   
barely 16  
it’s paper kites on the same string,   
pulling each other apart   
bunting in the wind   
except it’s a cross breeze   
and i’m in the middle  
it’s exhausting trying to keep yourself together


	3. symphony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'why is understanding you so sad  
> i love me some sad boi times, but come on carol'  
> -linda (the [platonic] love of my life)

i’m made up of flaws  
stitched together with good intentions  
i breathe in words so I can exhale in sentences  
and the blood that runs through my veins pumps emotion round my body  
so I can feel my sadness in my feet and my excitement in my temples  
and my pain in my chest as my heart beats to the rhythm of a song I can’t remember;  
a song made out of necessity,  
predating me  
and my thoughts that run on a loop.  
a bad chorus in a cast recording  
with my heart playing the drums and  
my diaphragm on cello  
a great unfinished symphony  
loud  
crushing  
inevitable


	4. muscle memory

it’s muscle memory and i don’t want it to be muscle memory  
because i don’t want it to be something i have remembered how to do.   
did you know it takes seven repeats to make a habit?   
i don’t want to have done this seven times.   
i want to stop remembering how to pick myself back up when i fall apart   
because when i finally forget,   
that means im learning how not to get hurt anymore.


	5. heartbeats [to those in favour of the abortion ban]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so very angry that morning. so i wrote a poem.

If my body is a temple, why are you tearing it down

Sanctimonious,

Brick by brick 

Ruining instead of worshipping

 

There isn’t a handbook to worship your women,

But do it with respect and kindness

If you wouldn’t do something in a church, don’t do it now.

 

Leave

_ Azaleas, _

_ Orchids _

_ And Heliotrope _

Leave your women

_ Gratitude _

_ Beauty _

_ And devotion _

 

I’m not telling you to burn all your dirty laundry

I’m not telling you to put on your hats and join the parade

Except maybe I am

But I’m not telling, 

I’m asking because this seems to be a sore spot for you all

And once you have given your explicit consent

I will shove a knitted hat on each and every one of you

And you will worship your women

Because our bodies are temples

And you need to learn.

 

_ No. _

 

Scrap that, 

It was too nice, too flowery

 

Nothing about this is flowery or nice 

You’ve always been taught that flowers bloom in women’s bruises

That you can fix us,

We are broken.

Spoiler alert, we don’t need fixing.

Nothing runs in our veins except blood and anger

We are angry.

 

There is no gagging order large enough to silence half the population.

 

When did my control over my body become a privilege? 

When did you decide you knew me better than I know me?

When did rape become the victims' fault?

When did we prioritise an unborn foetus over the mother?

When did you stop caring about women and start caring about money?

When did you learn that whisky tastes better when you’ve taken away a woman’s rights?

Who taught you that?

Because it wasn’t God.

 

Haven’t you learnt by now,

Women are smart.

You aren’t banning abortions, not really -

You’re just making people have to go deep to find them

Making the expensive and illegal and dangerous.

More people will die from the hands of a back-alley dealer than a doctor.

 

I’ve been fighting for this all my life,

I’ve resigned myself to the knowledge I will always be the woman alone in the room of men

It will always be my voice against theirs

But at least let those men respect me for who I am.

 

I will not say thank you.

Goodnight.


	6. anxious

Anxiety feels like swallowing an ice cube when your lungs are on fire.

It feels like you've painted on features that are too big and it takes momentum to open and close your eyes because you are frozen in a silent moment that has already passed.

It feels like that middle ground between too good and not good enough but not perfection as you stand in a crossroads. 

Because anxiety feels like you’re choking on a grenade and you can taste the bitter metal in your mouth until you realise that that is your blood and you’ve bitten into your cheek again. You promised yourself you’d stop.

And your mind is too slow but all your emotions are too fast.

And you can't hold onto what is right because you are moving in slow motion as the world speeds around you like a web.

And you are staring at a guy in the music room that you've never met but he hit the symbol too hard and now the sound is ricocheting around your mind and bouncing off every thought.

And your heart beat is dictated by the way in which he hits his drums. 

And the way your ballet shoes crack as you break them in.

And the way the clock ticks half a second slow in your Spanish classroom which no one has noticed for three years.

And you hate it.

Until it stops  
you breathe and  
it's not quite good but it's better than it has been.


	7. alone

i am alone  
but for the voices in my head  
that ground me  
trapped and im lacking sleep  
the fact is  
my head spins  
and my mind cannot compute  
what i feel  
into words  
that i can speak

i am gagged  
with the same rope  
that binds me to this chair  
but the voices   
will not go away  
when the rope is undone

crippling loneliness is not for the faint of heart  
but my heart is weak  
and my faith cannot keep me afloat  
and i don't feel alone anymore


	8. you will be my downfall.

you tell me you want your brain to stop

and i understand

that feeling

of the rush

of the adrenaline

anxiety gives you a high

but promises a downfall

so much lower

where the oxygen

doesnt fuel the fires

but destroys them.

 

you tell me you need your brain to stop

and i understand

but i do not tell you

because that says more

than i ever knew

and more

than you ever should.

 


	9. jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm a bitch, but i'm a jealous bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative title: jealousy isn't attractive but i am.

it bubbles  
under your skin  
behind your ears  
like strawberry jam  
or caramel  
sticky  
sweet  
strings words together  
forces them out  
hot  
turns love into anything  
love does not work alone

it is not green  
it is red  
like anger  
a sweet talker  
like romance  
and hungry  
god is it hungry

it is a monster  
and i am in its embrace  
it holds me  
til the storm has passed  
when i can remember how i feel  
i grieve the freedom i lost  
when my love  
turned to jealousy.

i am not a jealous person.  
but i am human.  
those are not mutually exclusive.

you hold me in the daytime  
but at night i am his

and he is mine

are you jealous?


	10. self destruction

i’m an internet person  
i made myself that role  
dug myself a hole  
and sat in it  
looked proud  
for a second

i like being an internet person  
i feel like a someone  
even on those days  
when people make me feel like a no one

it is one thing for people  
to degrade you  
fuck you up  
demoralise you

it is another for your brain

my anxiety likes me being an internet person  
because it means any fall  
will be further  
hurt more  
hurt others more

it knows i have a tendency for self destruction  
where better  
to exploit it   
where everyone knows your name  
but not your face  
your hobbies  
but not you  
not your life  
not your story

who better to hurt  
than those people  
who do not know you well enough  
to prepare for the hurricane.


	11. 3 a.m.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i scrubbed a drabble and made it a poem.

you are shaking.

 

well, your hands are shaking.

 

and you’re sweaty.

 

which is odd because you doesn’t really sweat. you dance every night but you don’t really perspire like everyone else. vanessa told you it was part of your goddess-appeal. 

 

vanessa told you a lot of things.

 

so you’re sweating and shaking and it’s 3 am on a saturday and you starts to wonder,

 

if maybe this isn’t the coffee.

 

or the gin

 

or the chicken from three nights ago.

 

because none of those make you uncomfortable in your own skin. 

 

none of those make you feel like you could slip right out of who you are, loose, out of place. it’s like imposter syndrome but not even that because it’s not that you don’t think you should be _ here _ . it’s that you’re not quite sure you should be  _ anywhere _ .

 

you’re not quite sure you should _ be. _

 

but god if thinking about all this bullshit isnt making you tired.

 

you let your head loll onto the cool granite of the counter, feel your sweat slick against the stone. it should cool you down but you are on fire.

 

you are burning.

 

what? you dont know. there’s not really enough on you to justify burning anything at all. but something, something is on alight.

 

you - well not really you - a hand runs through your hair and it is damp and crisp and when the hand pulls away it is black. 

 

and then you are in the shower.

 

you don’t know how you got there but somewhere in your brain you decided water combats fire.

 

and you are not burning.

 

you are drowning.

 

and the water fulls your nose hot and heavy and it cleanses you.

 

there is not sweat only fresh water pooling in the cerulean of your eyes and behind the watery smile. you try to inhale it but end up curled on your floor coughing. you have never really felt like a pisces.

 

and then you are in bed.

 

or on the bed.

 

and you cannot recall getting there but there are watery scratch marks on the floor and your hands and knees feel raw.

 

and it’s 3am.

 

you’re on fire and freezing cold and still fucking shaking.

 

but it’s okay.

 

it’s the caffeine.

 

or the gin.

 

or the chicken from three nights ago.

 

not the anxiety.


	12. of all the paths that led me to you.

the first path was dirt

it crumbled beneath my feet

each particle

breaking

remoulding

it rained that night

and i could have sworn i saw the stars

but my knees were sunk in mud

sticky and hot

and you had caught me.

 

the second path to you was glass

the shards cut me at every turn

every step was pain

no delays

no pauses

just cold pain

i felt it through my skin

like ice

but burning

and i wondered if this is what it felt like 

to be alive

and then i learnt

that love should not feel like shattered glass

and living should not be pain.

 

~~_ (it so often is but we do not talk about that) _ ~~

 

the third path to you was paved

clear cut

signposted with mileage and speed.

it should have been easy

i should have been able to walk it no problem

but i never healed

my feet were still dirty and embedded with glass

every step on the solid ground pushed the glass further in

and took me further from love.

the sun-scorched ground did not welcome me

neither did you.

 

the final path was grass

the kind you want to feel between your toes

soft and warm

like a summers day

birds flying above your head

chirping your favourite song

a symphony just for you

a melody never before heard

and never again spoken of.

i could have laid down on that path

under the summer stars

and counted constellations

wondered if we would fit like castor and pollux.

 

~~ (but i am not that girl you want) ~~

 

instead

i wrote a poem

and hoped you would find me instead.


	13. bite me.

I wish you would bite my lip   
the same way you bite yours.  
Maybe   
if you cracked the skin   
I’d feel enough pain   
to know that this is living.  
Because I don't feel alive.


	14. pure-o

i am exhausted

of living

in fear

of what i might think next

 

your words

spark obsessions

rolling phrases

around my mind

to find the one

that is making it dirty

 

i want to cleanse it

but i do not know how

so i write this poem

 

in the hopes

that when the thoughts return

i can tell them

 

i dont need them.

 

i dont want them.

 

they dont matter.


	15. baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i cannot stop thinking about her but i don’t know if i would want to.

you told me to go to bed  
in a text full of emoticons  
and pet names  
and love 

and i told you i would  
because i would do anything   
but you make my heart beat so fast  
i feel like i’m done

and now i can’t sleep  
because you’re on my mind  
and i can’t find a reason  
to stop.

you call me baby  
and i melt on the floor  
and i will be yours   
forever.


	16. the most dangerous word you know is my name

the most dangerous word you know is my name.

i say this without hesitation - without looking you in the eye.

i say this knowing everything.

everything you have spoken,

and will ever speak.

i say this knowing how your words have twisted me,

beaten me,

till my ribs are blue and green like the sea.

till knees are purple like hydrangeas in spring or violets.

violets.

the most dangerous word you know is not a curse - 

a knife,

a hand grenade,

that you can throw without seeing the consequences unfold,

like a children's book,

with the paper girls and paper boys,

playing together.

blissfully unaware,

of how life will change.

it is not witchcraft,

nothing untoward,

or unforgivable.

it is not a lack of empathy,

that blinds you from my pain.

it is my name.

all three syllables.

the way your lips form around them in a way i cannot describe.

the way it slides off your tongue like the only place is should ever be is with you.

it is how the sound of it sends shivers down my spine.

it takes away my burdens for a second or two,

i am light, 

free.

and then they drop back down.

dead weights.

and i remember,

you do not love me.

and my name is a weapon,

and i am alone.


	17. hourglass

imagine if all of time 

was filled with sand

you stand at the edge of the hourglass

nose pushed up against the glass

let yourself breathe for a second 

just to watch it steam up.

you hang your toes over the edge and wonder

wonder what it would be like

to fall

then you put your shoes on

and go home

get into bed

and try to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @pink-grapefruit-cafe


End file.
